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My friend Rev. Cathy Jenkins and I used to discuss what our lives were like when we used to both live in the country.  Of course that was a long time ago. She then asked me to write down some of my experiences which she could possibly show her children to use in their future life.  Two events came to mind:

We lived in a house with a few acres on the edge of Bonner Springs, close to the city cemetery, and that was my territory.  At the age of five, I used to visit my grandmother in a small house which she lived on the property, usually before I went to Kindergarten in the afternoon.  I was usually not afraid of anything, except being close to the cemetery at night fall.

Then my father purchased a flock of white geese.  Anyone who has lived around geese knows that they can be vicious and mean if they are in the mood to scare a person. I always carried with me a broom handle which I had salvaged from the trash to hold them off when I had to cross paths with them.

Except that one day, when I forgot to have in my possession the wood handle as I took off walking to mi abuela’s house.  I did not get far when they were after me.  To a five-year-old they looked ferocious and loud as they took off after me with their wings spread open and trying to peck at me.  I had no defense, so I immediately ran for a near-by tree and climbed up out of harms way.

I was so humiliated and embarrassed to be standing in that tree.  I really was hoping no one in the family was watching… I would not be able to bear the laughter.  The flock of geese soon lost interest in me, so they moved away until I could safely climb down and try to steady myself.  That would be my first lesson to the Jenkins teenagers – always be prepared.

The second lesson which I learned came in the form of a type-A personality quarter horse named Dynamite.  In a previous column I described how I received the surprise (almost) of my life, when mi padre gave me a beautiful horse.  I was approximately 10 years then.

We had moved to a farm west of Bonner Springs when I was 8 years of age. “What is his name?”  The man who sold him to us replied “Dynamite.”  I expected a friendlier sounding name but, it was an okay name.

I rode him only briefly that evening.  He appeared to be too excited, so I was told to take off his saddle and bridle and let him out to pasture for the evening.  I recall spending a long anxious evening making periodic visits to make sure that this was really not a dream.

I had the vision of jumping up on the saddle and taking off with my new quarter horse Dynamite in the morning. We would look as one – just as in the movies. We would ride off in a cloud of dust along side a large cornfield – a place which I had thought of beforehand. But, was I ever wrong:

In the morning, first I had to catch the horse.  At 8 a.m. he did not appear to be interested at all.  As I approached him, he seemed so much bigger than he had yesterday.  None of my older brothers were at home to give me advice – nor mi padre.

When I would approach Dynamite with the bridle, he would move away.  I followed him around the pasture for awhile, almost pleading with him to let me put on his bridle.  Finally I remembered that I had some sugar lumps which I found in the kitchen before. I then was able to put on his bridle correctly and led him toward the house. 

He was just too tall for me, so I had to move him next to the front porch of the house.  I made a trip to the shed where I had stored his blanket and saddle.  I was breathing hard now as I contemplated my next move.  I did not want to but I would need help, as Dynamite would move away from the porch when I attempted to place the blanket over his back. I knew my sister would be too afraid to help me, so of course I thought of mi madre.

Then, I was about 4 foot 10 inches and mi madre was not much taller.  “Hijito, por favor, esperate,” mi madre repeated several times. She knew I was stubborn – and this could turn ugly.  Surprisingly, to my joy, Dynamite now began to cooperate and I felt so much better.  At the time, I was certain that no self-respecting cowboy would be treated in this fashion by his horse.

The blanket and saddle was now in place.  All that was left was to tighten the wide belt called the cinch and the saddle would be firmly secured on his back. I did not know then, but many horses will puff out their stomachs at the first feel of the cinch. The solution to this detail is to tap the horse on the side and wait until they let their stomach in – then you tighten the cinch until it feels snug and secure. I did not know that then. This was my second lesson to the teens in the Jenkins family – pay attention to detail.

Dynamite was close to the porch, so I was able to mount fairly easy.  I then told mi madre that I was going for a little ride.  I think that I forgot to thank her for her assistance. As Dynamite and I left, I could see mi madre making the sign of the cross as she walked back into the house. That was not good.

After a minute, I was feeling more confident, so I tapped Dynamite on the shoulder with the reins, just as it was done in the movies.  He immediately broke into a trot.  I didn’t think this was right; the way I was bouncing around in the saddle. After a minute we were at the top of a hill.  I felt that something was not right, so I turned him left to go back to the house. At that instant, Dynamite took off at full speed – down the hill…

To my horror, the saddle was now slipping from side to side. The saddle had not been secured on his back properly. The next thing I knew, I was hanging onto the out-of-control horse. The saddle had now slipped to his side, and I was also now – sideways.

I have to admit, I thought these were my last few seconds on earth. I was hanging onto the now fast-galloping beast with my right heel dug onto his back. I could see his left front hoof flashing only inches from my nose – my eyeballs were now flopping side-ways in my head.  Also, I still have the strong smell of a sweating horse vividly embedded in my memory.

I knew that I could hang on no more, so I let loose of the saddle which was now hanging sideways on the flying quarter horse.  I recall the violent feeling as I crashed into the dirt and I am certain that I looked as in the cartoons – rolling over and over with the dust flying everywhere. 

When I stopped rolling and came to my senses, I had grass in my mouth and nose – it seemed awful hot and humid. I think I wanted to break out in tears then, but soon my fear turned to anger. 

I was a mess. My jeans and t-shirt were smeared with grass and dirt. And the person who was responsible for all of this was Apache. I looked around for him – and there he was – calmly eating fresh corn stalks 50 feet away. My next thoughts were the fear that someone had witnessed it all.  No cowboy had ever endured such humiliation.

I was then able to get Dynamite back to the pasture, where I removed the cursed saddle and blanket.   Fortunately, no one saw me – so I did not have to answer any embarrassing questions. I then had to go to the pond which was secluded and clean up. I removed my jeans and t-shirt; cleaned them as much as I could in the pond water. It was a sunny and warm day, so I was able to spend the day under a tree in my shorts, waiting for my clothes to dry.

Most of my thoughts on that day centered on - if only I had known the correct procedure to applying a saddle. My second lesson to the Jenkins teens and all teens is: please pay attention to detail.

Rudy Padilla is a columnist for the Kansan and can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net